


Turnabout

by bendy_quill



Category: Choices: The Royal Romance, The Royal Romance (Visual Novel)
Genre: F/M, Hand Jobs, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-28
Updated: 2020-04-28
Packaged: 2021-02-22 21:23:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23900614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bendy_quill/pseuds/bendy_quill
Summary: Liam attempts to blow off some steam and fails to do exactly that.
Relationships: Liam/Main Character (The Royal Romance)
Kudos: 20





	Turnabout

A steady quiet grips the palace halls, such an old building occasionally cutting the silence with its creaky foundation and slight chills—little breaths to ease the weight of its ever-growing legacy. He carries each new burden from the pristine marble through the glittering golden halls, hundreds of eyes look to him for everything—guidance, assurances, admonition, and all that fall in between. To save the bounty of this year, will he risk the ire of demanding more in taxes? To ease the tensions between council members, will he declare favor for one or take a chance by presenting an olive branch? 

Beads of sweat slip down his brow and dangle precariously at the tip of his nose. The wooden dummy sits tall in front of him, fresh cuts and deep slashes criss-crossing all along the chipped surface. Liam takes a quick step to the right, sword whisking through the air as he slices a careful pattern into the dummy. 

Some thousands of generations of Rys monarchs had it much more difficult than he. Her Majesty, Queen Kenna Rys had the backing of five kingdoms and the reputation of the Light Taker but her ability to wage war did nothing to gain her allies. Her allies were people first, desperate and in need of one thing or the other—to save a kingdom already on fire, she bites her tongue and answers that call for help first. To bring it all together under one crown and to have the decision be a unanimous one at that? 

How many acres of Stormholt did she lose for every day she spent taking care of other people’s problems? It’s a responsibility he understands, but gods help him, he doesn’t envy the work his ancestors had to endure. 

Splinters of wood split and scatter upon the mat. He raises his sword with a grunt, cutting at what would be an arm if he faced a live opponent. 

All that weight Kenna Rys carried—all the weight he must carry as King. Not many places to work out the stress he faces these days. 

“I was wondering where you ran off to.”

A smile spreads across his face and he offers a brief bow to his inanimate partner. When Liam turns, he’s graced with the sight of Riley, her long dark hair pulled into a loose bun, a leather jacket hugging her shoulders, and a long black dress adorning her. She leans against the doorway of the training room, eyes appreciatively roaming the entire length of him. 

“I didn’t mean to worry you,” he says, breathless and dabbing at his brow with the towel hanging on his shoulder. Liam approaches her slowly, sword still in hand and face settling into a gentle expression. “How was your meeting?”

She smiles. 

“I had to have a sincere conversation with Madeleine and Maxwell at the same time.” Riley brushes past Liam, sweeping into the room and his eyes follow her. He catches the sway of her hips as her dress flutters around her ankles. “They’re definitely on the same page with the relief efforts. It’s just that Madeleine knows more practical ways to handle our solutions and Maxwell just wants to do everything that he can at once.” She sighs. “But I’d be lesser without both of them. We get more done as a team, even if we have completely different ideas.”

“Ah. The perils of leadership,” he chuckles. 

He watches her approach the weapons rack, her impeccable manicure glimmering under the soft light as she trails a hand across the metal guards of each sword securely held in place. His breath hitches when she stops in front of one. 

“I was hoping we could take some time to ourselves for the rest of the day,” she says, hand curving around to stroke the hilt—he swallows hard. She draws the sword from its stand, metal glinting as she turns it in her hand and examines the fine craftsmanship. “It won’t be long before this place is flooded with nobles from every which part of the country. I’ve been looking forward to the Light Bringer Festival. Sounds lovely.”

“In the days of old, Queen Kenna faced in single combat the illustrious Empress Azura, She Who Shines Brightest, and, before the throne, in front of witnesses numbering in the hundreds, slew the Queen of the Bright and thus secured the Five Kingdoms, their borders, and their independence,” he recites, hand blindly reaching back and grasping at the door knob. “It marked the beginning of the Five Kingdoms—a fight to end all fights, or so the history books say.”

Riley gives a few good swipes with her sword, eventually ending with a powerful thrust forward. Her eyes find his across the room, arm slowly lowering to her side and she gives the blade a careful twirl. She stalks forward and he pulls the door shut—again and he sets the lock. At the third step, his feet glide across the floor as he joins her and twirls the blade in his hand. 

“I’ve been doing some reading of my own,” she says, eyes flashing dangerously. “Diavolos Nevrakis—King of Abanthus. He was made Queen Kenna’s husband after the war against the Iron Empire ended?”

“Yes, he was,” Liam answers. “His father intended betrayal as soon as the dust settled and Diavolos chose to defend Kenna instead. They developed quite an alliance during the conflict.”

Riley laughs. “The stories are a bit more…suggestive in terms of what their relationship was like.”

It occurs to him that they’ve made a full circuit by now. He made a promise to her after their marriage—his burdens would be hers and hers would belong to him. It’s a union forged in understanding and bound by Cordonian tradition, the beloved King and his outsider Queen. So many candidates and so many ways this could’ve turned out. He would kiss the gods themselves if they ever came to him—once for their blessing and a second time for granting him the chance to marry the love of his life. 

“Diavolos Nevrakis was a man born and bred for war,” Liam says, voice dropping low. Riley’s head tilts and he nearly has her. “The first time he ever met Kenna was on the battlefield. Theirs was a love forged by blood, brimstone, and steel.”

“They were warriors,” she says, raising her blade and pointing it at him. 

He raises his arm to a ready position, smile tugging at his lips. “Lovers.”

“I wonder how hard they pushed each other,” Riley says, quirking a brow. 

All the preamble he gets before she lunges forward, blade swinging at him and forcing him back despite the steady block. She’s relentless in her pursuit, careful strikes swishing past him and her steel clanging against his. Nimble feet compared to his steady stance and he can tell she’s been getting in extra practice with Mara. Not as refined as a fencer but she’s unpredictable enough that it makes a difference. The loose strands of her hair whip around her face but he keeps his eyes trained on her body and her sword. 

He rushes to the side, both of them grunting with effort as their blades cross and she pushes him back with a grunt. His arm raises and her cut is true—one clean slice across the shirt loosely adorning him, buttons scattering across the ground and his pale skin peeking out between the neatly parted flaps. 

Liam briefly touches the ruined pieces of his shirt until his eyes dart up and lock with Riley’s. Oh, the smug glee in those brown eyes. She holds her blade out still pointing it towards him and he can’t stop the wicked smile that spreads across his face. 

He tears the pieces with his free hand and pulls the tatters out of his pants, shedding and tossing his ruined shirt to the ground. 

“My darling Queen,” he purrs, boldly gliding across the plane of their battle. Riley follows him, blade still precariously keeping him at length. “I’m afraid you may have started something here…”

“I certainly hope you plan to finish—”

Two quick strides, wrist flicking carefully as his blade crosses hers and she steps—

Back, favoring the right, and earns a clean split down her dress. 

One gleaming brown thigh greets him, the entire length of her leg now exposed by a cut stemming from the hip and parting all the way down. Riley brings her arms down and stares at the cut, cheek apples glowing as she laughs despite the fiery look in her eyes. The black dress flutters around her leg now as she moves, eyes lifting and finding his. Her tongue darts out as she wets her lips. 

They meet each other in the middle, her blade screaming and sliding along his as he lifts his arm overhead. Chest to chest, the powerful muscles in his body ripple as they give a half twirl around each other, swords shifting down at the ready and he jumps back when she slashes at him. 

The clash of steel,

Beads of sweat flying off flushed skin, 

Grunts that could easily be mistaken for sounds of something far more carnal,

The exertion no different and the aim relatively similar. He can see their dance—one step around the other, blades singing with each clash, his eyes trained on her and her determination trained on him. One more step towards the middle as they meet halfway and he jerks his hand down, tearing a rip across her chest. 

Liam licks his lips tasting the salt of his sweat and the budding temptation hanging heavy in the air. 

Beneath the split of the folds, he’s blessed with the sight of her breasts begging for the scrape of his teeth. What he could do to her—oh, the things he’s done to her with just a raspy sound and a few string of words. 

He would move mountains. 

Stop the world on its axis.

Wait on her, hand over foot. 

Riley tilts her head and watches him circle her—both their chests heaving. 

“Seems I’ve the advantage, Your Grace,” Liam says, voice hoarse from exertion. Her arms hang loose by her side, blade gleaming in the light, and the wild look in her eyes stirring primal feelings deep within him. His eyes roam over every inch—needs it like a man dying of thirst needs water. He could do so much if she’d let him. 

Liam twirls the blade in his hand and she strides towards him. A woman on a mission with her shoulders hunched forward and she clashes with him—both hands gripping the hilt as they meet and he fights the voice in his head telling him to toss the blades so he can take her to the ground. The hollow of her throat is where he fixes his eyes, dark brown spots peppered along the expanse and Liam groans. 

A gift of a few nights ago when the palace halls fell silent to the night, nothing but the footsteps of the nightwatch trailing past their bedroom and he refused to grant her respite. He refused to hold back, refused to let her sounds go unheard. He didn’t give a damn who heard, at least they’d know. 

His fingers squeeze the grip and it’s a torture of a kind feeling the warm metal beneath his fingertips rather than her skin. He presses forward and she begrudgingly jolts back so as to keep her balance. Again and his body ripples with a deep seated hunger that claws at him. Another and he pushes her back with all his might, pivoting on his foot and forcing her to spin. 

His wrist flicks out and he cuts at her skirt along the front. She gasps and falters back, spinning on her heel to force some distance and he strikes again, cutting the back of the skirt and exposing both her legs completely. Her head tilts back for a boisterous laugh and he suppresses a moan when he stares fully at the smooth black fabric clinging to her ass. 

“I’m not done yet!” she exclaims, slowly turning towards him. Dangerous—tempting the decency and years of etiquette he’s been trained to maintain. A king must always been in control but why? Why would he deny the feelings bubbling just beneath the surface making his throat dry and his skin tingle? “Now, now—what’s that look in your eye, my King?”

He can’t even bother hiding the way his eyes roam across her exposed thighs. His free hand flexes, a muscle memory coming to mind—of warm legs cradling his head, his fingertips dug into soft brown flesh, and the heady scent of her core invading his senses. 

“A deep-seeded yearning,” he answers honestly, eyes taking in her wild appearance. He takes a ready stance and watches her smirk. She tugs her bun completely loose, raven locks falling over her shoulders, and he can remember the last time he had a fistful of that, gently tilting her head back so he could leave those marks all over her neck. She circles him with her blade out. “Gods help me, if I wasn’t committed to finishing this…”

“Ah ah, patience, love,” she teases, eyes drinking him in. “Oh, but look at you, all breathless and pretty for me.”

He inhales sharply—it’s a familiar phrasing. 

A familiar tone of voice. 

Liam’s eyes dart to her gleaming thighs. 

“Look at you,” he murmurs. “All voracious and tempting…” He raises his blade in front of him in a defensive position, her steady paces putting him on edge. “The key to all the control I have left in me.”

“And I’m not giving it back,” she challenges, winking. 

He smirks. “Oh, beloved. I would hope not.”

It’s an onslaught that follows, sparks nearly flying between them. Her grunts and his grunts that put him in so many different places at once—the unabashed sounds of the opera behind them and her nails raking down his back— 

The cool air of the Applewood manor and her heels pressing into his back—

Hot breath puffing into his ear and her body squeezing all around him as their boat rocks—

Everywhere and nowhere at once, too many times over. So many times over, so many memories and all he can think about is the heat in his belly and the contrast of his hands on her skin, holding her wrists down down as their slick bodies slide against each other. She’s everywhere—perfume on her neck, quivering thighs, slick heat spread all around him—and nowhere—home with him, home in their bed, screaming for him, begging for him.

Trails of sweat slither down his body, arms up and wrists nearly crossing (like the time she looped red ribbons around his). She spins, slashing with purpose and ferocity (like the time when she shoved him with both hands into a private room at an exclusive event, witnesses be damned), and he meets her at every turn (like when she rolls her hips just like he likes, her breathless voice caught between a haughty laugh and a throaty moan, her open lips hovering over his as his eyes roll to the back of his head). 

Liam thrusts his blade forward and her back slams against the wall, sharp edge digging into the reinforced wood and her jacket pinned against it. She lets out a loud sound that can’t be anything other than a sensual grunt. Gods, the amount of times he’s heard that sound, has imagined hearing that sound when they’re chauffeured in the limousine, his hands flexing uncontrollably as he grips the seats and she sits proudly beside him, a coy hand roaming freely in his lap. 

His eyes lock with hers—one moment, she’s impeccable with every strand of hair carefully slicked back as her crown sits heavy upon her head.

The next, she’s looking back at him with wild eyes promising him all the world and then some if only he’d fall even further into ruin for her. 

He blinks, head shaking and hands trembling—her voice is so clear, everything is so clear.

Another memory—

Spread across his desk, missives, folders, all the trinkets that should be there scattered across the floor and she’s got one hand gripping the edge, eyes lidded and mouth wide open as moans pour from her throat, dress open in the front where her breasts are covered in his bites, blackeyes of her nipples staring at him pebbled and glistening from his earlier attentions, her skirt pulled high up around her waist and panties lying somewhere in tatters. He grips her thighs with the strength of a man afraid to let go, desperate to have all of her at once. Their bodies slick, wet heat dripping from them every which way—his shirt hangs wide open and his pants hastily bunch around his thighs because it’s all he could manage before it became too much. 

Buried in her, buried until he can go no further. Her hand on his stomach so she can feel the muscles tremble and ripple with every thrust. 

Liam’s throat goes dry and his mouth opens. 

Riley slips out of the jacket and brings her blade up, clashing with his as she pushes him back and slashes at his pants. The belt and the pieces fall around him as her eyes gleefully land on the black boxers clinging to him. He glances down at the expert cut and slowly lifts his head. 

When their gazes meet, he knows he’s lost control already. 

“And now…” she purrs, twirling the blade in hand, her other hand reaching out and tracing a path from the elastic band of his boxers through the dark hairs trailing up his belly button, “for my other question.”

He swallows, curls his free hand into a tight fist so he won’t even consider palming the heavy erection straining in his boxers, and turns his head so he can follow her path around him. Fingertips glide across his skin—stomach arching up so she can rake her fingers along his chest, circle around his powerful arms, and dance along his shoulders. 

“Riley,” he whimpers, pleading.

“Did he ever bend for her?” 

Tantalizing touch and it scrapes along his skin, a blade of finer craftsmanship than he could’ve ever imagined. Cuts deeper and drives harder into his very soul. 

“Diavolos—” He shudders as her fingers dip down low in the curve of his back. “He was not a king that could be so easily tamed. Battle was his—his second nature and not much could, hah…” Black polished nails glide around to his belly, dips beneath the elastic band and just barely touches him at the base of his cock. His entire body seizes up, dark eyes now completely fixed on the smug expression on her face. He takes a breath, shifting on his feet and rising to his full height above her. “Not much could be withheld should he desire it.”

Riley tilts her head. “And if his Queen wanted him to bend a knee for her?”

“He’d do it,” he responds quickly, voice rumbling in his chest and surprising her. “Anything she wanted—the world, the universe, all the damn stars in the sky and the galaxies in between.” He’s moving forward, backing her up towards the wall and her eyes never stray from him. “He withheld nothing. Wore his passion for his people—for his Queen—on his sleeves and fought with the weight of both bearing down on him. It was everything he should’ve been, everything she deserved.”

“And me?” Riley whispers. “What do I deserve, my love?”

His nostrils flare and his hand shoots out, grasps her at the back of her neck and pulls her towards him. 

“You deserve…” She keens as he tips her back further, spies the way the light dances in her eyes and exposes her blown pupils to him despite the already dark depths of her eyes. “All the heat and the fervor built up in me…” He dips his head, lips hovering over hers and eyes darting over every part of her face—the face that greets him in the morning and puts him at ease when he goes to sleep. “Gods, Riley. I could do so much to you right now.” Just the barest brush of their lips and all the heat bubbles within him, burns him from the inside out. “Command me and I would move you however you want me to. Would have you whatever way you deemed worthy.”

“Oh, Liam…”

Her eyes squeeze shut and he closes the gap, seals his lips to hers with a guttural sound. Claims her, marks her, throws the last thread of his control right up in to the wind without a care. Backs her up against the wall with the tatters of his pants limply clinging to his ankles and his cock rubbing all over her dress. It’ll be an awful mess, precome leaking from the tip and spreading all over his boxers. All the things he could let her do—that he could do. 

He presses her hard up against the wall and she moves her mouth in tandem with his, swallows every moan and releases a few trembling ones of her own. One hand smooths over his heated skin, rakes down the pinkish flush spreading down his body and catches on a nipple, making him shudder. Air barely matters but he parts long enough to let her suck in a breath before he greedily consumes more. More kisses, more heat, everything and nothing, all of her and twice more of himself. 

Liam presses a knee up against her already soaking core, rolls it between her legs as he swallows more kisses and sucks down more of her pleading noises. Her free hand scrabbles until she settles it on his neck and pulls him to her. As close to her as their physical bodies will allow and it’s still not enough. He wants further in, deeper in, all the way down to her soul. 

More, more, more, it will never be enough—can’t ever be enough. 

Her hand comes back around and shoves at his chest. He can’t even register his own body anymore, just lets it do whatever it pleases as his blade arcs up and splits her dress completely down the middle. The tatters fall down her arms as soon as she lowers them. 

Black lingerie and her hair sticking up in places, chest heaving, and body slick with sweat. Riley whips around slowly and his blade meets hers above their heads, chest to chest and gods help him, he would absolutely end it now if she asked. 

He would do anything for her to just end it now.

Eyes locked, pupils blown wide. His growls and her gasps—they circle each other in a dance far more intimate than they’ve ever shared before. Eyes darting to lips, darting to skin, the temptation rising between them and she slips away, bare feet quickly padding towards the locker room and he dashes after her with a breathless laugh. 

She throws the curtains in his face, laughing and twirling around in circles. The sword slips from her fingertips, clattering unceremoniously to the ground and he tosses his down without a thought. No need to run from anything anymore as she lets him sweep her up in his arms, the muted light of the baths bleeding out onto the floor, and his lips find hers. Hot, hungry—begging and pleading for sweet release. 

Liam lifts her and she wraps her legs around him, bodies slick and sliding together as if they were made for one another. He sets her down after a few steps, just outside the baths proper and onto the plush white carpet just outside the entrance. 

Hands fumble and grope, tear off her panties, unhook her bra, and slide his boxers down the entire length of his body. Heated gazes lock, her tongue wetting her lips, and her brows rising. 

“Give me what I deserve, my love,” she demands, fingers carding through the hair at the nape of his neck. He groans as she shifts her hand up to grip his hair tight. “Mold yourself for me, give me all that I want and more.”

“I’ll give you—” he manages before her lips crash hard against his, devouring every sweet sound from his throat and the little puffs of air in between. They break with a gasp, the wind stolen from their lungs and burning something fierce with every intake of breath. “Riley, please.”

She tugs on his hair and he cries out. 

“Oh, Liam. I hear you, darling. I hear you loud and clear.” Their bodies shift and he finds his back against the warm carpet, chest heaving as nails rake down his skin, tweak his nipples and dip lower until her hand firmly grips his cock. “But I already told you: give me what I deserve.”

“Fuck!” he shouts, legs splaying wider and eyes glancing down to watch her pump him. 

Slow. 

Steady.

Hand twisting on every upstroke, squeezing just right to draw the breath from his body. Leave him at her mercy. Bend to her will and mold his body into the perfect pliant mess she craves. Precome beads at the tip, spilling down his cock and she pays it no mind. Slides her hand through the slick and spreads it all over him. Drives him further and plucks at the remaining threads of his sanity. Snips each with a feverish kiss—to his neck (snap), and further down along his collarbone (snap snap). Little kisses down his chest and over his fluttering stomach. 

He swallows hard when she lets go of him, grabs his shoulders to steady herself and swings a leg over his body. Her wet core presses hot against him, her heat nearly engulfing him but not quite yet. Liam reaches up and brings her down to him with both hands cradling her face. Their foreheads press together as their heavy breaths fill the room. 

“Riley, please. Gods, please. Anything you want.” He’s fully aware of the desperate crack of his voice, his body trembling in anticipation of everything—heated kisses, heated core, fiery passion and endless possibility nestled deep within him. “I’ll give you anything you want, just…just…please!”

Riley kisses him hard, lets him scrabble at her and stroke shaky fingers through her hair as her body sinks down on his cock, one hand holding him steady while the other loosely grasps his neck. Guttural sounds rumble in his chest, mouth still moving in tandem with Riley’s, capturing them even as her lips part and let out a desperate gasp. Her hips remain still until she shifts, body clenching around him and a few quick movements have him pinning her to the ground. 

His move—his play. He could have her any way but he’ll wait. 

He’ll let the heat consume him as he consumes her kisses, hands pinning her wrists and body shifting ever so slightly—reminding her that there’s a fight she’s yet to finish. 

He plants smaller kisses down her jaw, each as powerful and hungry as the last, leaving a trail of wet heat down her neck. Choked gasps flood the pristine room, her wrists give pull but he won’t let her move any further. Riley’s hips cant up and he growls, lavishing her throat with more bites, more marks that she’ll need to cover in front of the Court. 

Fuck them, he thinks. 

“Oh, Liam!”

Fuck them, he thinks, gently rocking his hips forward. 

“Riley—Riley—tell me what you want!” he hisses, face pressing into her neck. 

Her chest heaves and she struggles against his grip at her wrists, pushes forward like she wants to touch him. His teeth scrape along her neck once again, hips rocking in one thrust—

A second and she wrenches her hands free,

A third and he plants his hands next to her head, body rolling up and, finally—

Finally,

Gods help him, 

She opens her mouth—

“Fuck me. Fuck me, Liam, god, I want it all!”

He’s a merciful king. 

He could never cut his teeth on the ruthless power plays his father was capable of—compassion is the weapon of Liam’s choice. 

Oh, but there are those moments. These moments, when the savagery and the passion overflow within him. When the niceties and the control slip completely from his grasp in favor of something more carnal than hunger. 

He could never hide his love for Riley, never ever again. His hips rock steady into her at first, drag every moan from her throat as her legs wrap tight around his waist and her lips press to his ear letting him hear every little thing he does to her. She wraps her arms around his neck, sanity giving way to desperation and he pounds his hips against hers. 

“Yes! Yes, hah, Riley!” he grunts hot and rough in her ear, wet heat slamming into wet heat. His lips descend unto every bit of hot flesh he can find—her face, her neck, her shoulders, her soft lips. Whatever he can capture, he’ll take. Whatever she offers, he’ll cling to for now. 

“God, Liam!” 

Her heels press deep into his lower back and she squeezes around him, the wet sounds of their coupling setting a steady rhythm. To the drum of her pulse under his tongue laving along the flesh, and then to the thrum of his heart slamming against his ribcage. Deep inside her and deeper still, Liam carries them both as far as they can go, as loud as they can be as they claw their way to their destination. 

Her fingers scrape and pull at his hair, pleasure tingling down his spine like a strike of razor thin lightning, and her moans drive him harder. All that he could do for her and more, all that he’s ever wanted to do for her and more—all possible as his fingertips graze along her sides, circle her breasts, thumb the peaks of her hardened nipples, and gently close around her throat. 

Lips scrape against lips, leave wet trails from cheek to jaw to neck. Teeth sink into flesh and mouth closes around skin—dark brown marks left in his wake, reminders she won’t hide and he can hear the gossip now. 

“Oh, how bold!”

“My, how atrocious to leave such…such evidence!”

“Have they no shame? No tact?”

No ability to maintain all that—

Tight—

Awful control. 

That part of him that tries to hold it together in her presence when all he wants is a fistful of those black tresses, yanking and pulling, molding her the way she’ll let him and the way he wants. One hand slips from her neck to push at her thigh—up and to the side so there’s nothing left to hide from him. Liam leans over her, lips barely touching hers as hot puffs of air spill from her lips to the rhythm he sets with his hips. He takes in every detail, refuses to close his eyes because he wants to see everything—

The way her brows draw tight when he thrusts just right,

Teeth and jaw clenching as he shifts his hips and pins her down,

The hand trailing on her thigh now dancing between her legs, rubbing careful and sure circles around her pearl. 

Her head snaps back, mouth wide open as his hovers waiting to swallow her every noise. Nails rake painfully down his back and he knows there will be marks in the morning. The thought alone sends chills down his spine. 

“Look at me,” he breathes, voice nearly shot. She thrashes underneath, thighs opening wider. His hips snap mercilessly into hers, fingers still teasing the wet warmth between her legs as he pulls and pulls her closer to the edge. He’ll bring her there, teeter her just off the edge—

But first—

“Liam…oh god, Liam, please!” she begs. 

But first.

“Riley, look at me, right now.”

It’s a struggle for her to open her eyes, the depths of deep brown staring back at him with tears pricking at the corners, threatening to streak down her face. One hand still around her throat and he shifts his entire body, gets her hips near parallel to the floor as he rises on his knees and closes his hand tighter around her neck, pulls her forward so their foreheads touch. 

He’ll stay in the depths as long as she’ll let him. As long as it takes. His lips part, press against hers for a fleeting moment as her eyes dart all over his face. 

“I love you,” he breathes. A heady moan tears from her throat as he grinds his hips into hers. No thrusting, just heated flesh pressed up against heated flesh. Their bodies slotted perfectly, her breathless gasps stirring feelings already burning hot in his belly. Liam squeezes the hand around her neck and presses his body further, fingers still mercilessly teasing her pearl. “Every day it’s a battle when you’re near—a struggle not to throw you down and mark you up.”

Her hands shift and grip his shoulders tight, nails biting into his flesh and he can’t bring himself to care. His hips start a slow rhythm at first, dragging more of those sweet sounds from her. 

“I—fuck! I’m not…not apologizing,” she manages. Her eyes never stray from his, all the fervor and passion within driving him harder. Driving him deeper. Riley opens her mouth, words just on the cusp of her tongue but he gives her a moment—watches her head tilt back as far as his grip allows her and those beautiful brown eyes roll to the back of her head. “All of this…I want it all, baby…” Her hands smooth down his bare chest and his jaw clenches. “I demand it. I don’t want you to stop until…”

“I’ll give you what you deserve,” he says between clenched teeth. “All the things you, hah…all the things you…want and more.” More than this—more than flesh on flesh, chasing heat and highs beyond their wildest dreams. Liam drags her forward crushing his mouth against hers. One kiss, just the one break in all the fantasies fueling him. When they part, their eyes lock, breaths ragged and heavy as fire burns in their veins. He swallows around dry air. “Anything you want. Everything you want, my love, please. Oh god, Riley, I’ll give you everything just…please…”

Her hands weave through his hair pulling him close. She tilts forward kissing him sloppily. 

“Give me your love,” she demands and he groans, deep and low. Lets the sound settle in his chest as one of her hands smooths down his back to grip his ass and loosely guide him. Her lips press against his ear and he shudders at the breath puffing into the cartilage. “Give me your fears. Your worries. Give me what’s been eating at you, clawing at you, shaking you down to the core.”

The hand trapped between them shifts up so he can wrap her up in his arms. It’s all lost to him now—sanity, tact, control, and everything in between. His hips chase a feeling now, no rhythm or rhyme. Just the heat surrounding him on all sides, the fire threatening to burst from within him. He presses his face in the crook of her neck as the heat coils tight in his belly, mouth open and lungs burning. He groans deep, inhales sharply and takes in the scent of her perfume mingling with the sweat clinging to her neck. Her ankles lock behind his back and it’s only a matter of time. 

Five…

“Let it wash through you, baby,” comes her sultry voice in his ear. Encouraging him still. Coaxing him regardless of the subtle ache that must be quaking in her thighs by now. “Let it flow through me.”

Four…

Squeezing tight around him and he can barely take it anymore. Barely stand the fire choking him up in the chest and the desperate heave of his lungs swallowing dry air. Her hand on his ass keeps guiding him—pinching him when he grinds his hips into hers and squeezing when her name tumbles off the edge of his lips. He can’t take this anymore.

Three…

“Riley, please! Gods, please, I can’t! I can’t stand it—”

Two…

“Give me all of it. Give me, give me, give me! I demand it. I want it. I want it! I want you! I want you so fucking much, Liam! Oh!”

Oh…oh…

One. 

One love, one body, one soul—for a few minutes, maybe even less than that. Maybe more than he’d ever be able to understand. Just those few seconds in between the powerful jerk of his hips, the desperate pleas spilling rapidly from Riley’s lips. It’s a feeling that flows out of him with a snap—the very last thread of his control gone completely as he spills deep inside her. Thrusts hard until there’s nothing left of him to give. He holds her as tight as he can without hurting her, presses his mouth to her ear and lets the hoarse groans bubbling in his chest pour out of him. 

He keeps going until his knees scream with pain, until her choked sobs die down and morph into gentle praises that she plants upon him with even gentler kisses. On his face, across his cheeks, and down his jaw—each whisper of breath dancing along his skin carrying a promise of love and adoration. 

“So good. So so good, Liam, I love you so much,” she says like it’s an oath, sure and brimming with passion. Her shaky hands cradle his face, pull him from the warmth of the crook of her neck so she can look him in the eye properly. His heart swells large and fast in his chest at the pure joy in the depths of her brown eyes. Riley brushes the sweat from his brow and kisses every bit of skin her fingertips touch. “I love you, Liam. You did so well.”

“I love you, too,” he says quickly, stealing a few kisses from her lips. There’s a beat of laughter that comes from her in between them. A ray of warmth in all this cooling heat—the one sound he cherishes more than raspy pleas and hoarse begging. He presses his forehead to hers and shares a laugh with her. “Riley Harrington, I love you so damn much. I love you, I love you…”

And for a moment, there’s no titles and no need to think about the world outside the doors. There’s just them, their bodies bare with sweat clinging to their skin, and whispers of their devotion filling the silence. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Of course they pick him. Why wouldn’t they pick him?

He’s the Professional Best Friend—the one person that knows Liam–inside and out–that could track him to the ends of the earth and back. 

Drake sighs—and shouldn’t be complaining either. It isn’t as if Madeleine’s concerns are unfounded. These days, whenever Liam disappears, it tends to cause a bit of panic amongst the King’s Guard. Anton may be gone but the threat is still fresh in people’s minds. That won’t change any time soon. 

So when Madeleine levels him with a pointed look and a raised brow, as if to say, “fetch, boy,” he has no choice but to go track Liam down, or else a national scandal break out on account of the King of Cordonia just wanting a few minutes to breathe. 

When he tosses the doors to the training room open, he freezes. 

Scraps of clothing lay in tatters all over the mats, clean cuts from what he can see, and not a trace of any person who could’ve worn them nearby. He steps further into the room and picks up some of the pieces so he can closely examine them. Little black scraps here, white fabric there—no blood on either, but the black scraps…

He brings a strip of black cloth to his nose and sniffs. 

“Harrington’s perfume…” he whispers and turns his head. 

A small leather jacket lays crumpled on the floor by the wall. Panic wells in him when he picks it up and notes the cut across the back of it. A sword or knife—he looks closer and—

“No blood?”

His head snaps towards the locker rooms, a noise drawing him closer to the doors. Through the threshold, he can hear two voices—one unmistakably Liam’s and the other…

He inches further into the room, noting the steam rolling out of the shower and the two swords lying haphazardly across the floor. There’s a grunt, deep and guttural—he swallows. 

“—hadn’t thought that far ahead.”

“Clearly.”

Harrington. 

He creeps closer, footsteps silent as he inches closer. 

Liam sighs wistfully. “The one time I wish Bastien had actually kept close tabs on me…”

Someone’s wet footsteps pad across the tiles. “No phone either?”

“Left it with Drake.” A pause. “What? Wait, no. I—I didn’t plan—”

“Oh, I know. This was my plan but I just—wow, so that’s a tidbit I’m definitely gonna abuse later.”

“Riley!” There’s a lilt in Liam’s voice as his laughter cuts through the quiet. 

It eats at him in ways he doesn’t expect a lot of times, the jealousy and the silent heartbreak that gnaws at him. Drake sighs and presses flush against the lockers—he hasn’t thought about either of them like that in a while but it creeps up sometimes. He remembers the social season, hating Harrington and wishing she would figure out that court is the last place she needed to be. He remembers the contempt that spread through him when Liam spoke on and on about how right it felt to be near her whenever he could. 

The shower cuts off and the two of them giggle again. Drake straightens up when Liam’s head pokes out from behind the curtain.

“Oh, Drake! Thank goodness,” he says, breathing a sigh of relief. “I’m afraid I might need your help for a moment.”

“Are you two okay?” Drake asks, pushing off the lockers. He stops when Liam glances back and pulls the curtain tighter to him. He’s seen Harrington before—he never told Liam, not that he ever would. “Madeleine said she hadn’t seen either of you for a while and I found your clothes…” 

A deep blush tinges Liam’s cheeks and his eyes dart around the room. 

“Ah…well…” Liam jerks and looks back, a small smile creeping on his face and Drake can practically see Harrington’s glib expression as she pokes her husband in his sides. “Riley’s…Duchess Riley is with me. We may have…been a bit overzealous with our training. Which brings me to our current problem—”

“You need me to bring you spare clothes,” Drake finishes with a sigh. 

“And if possible, try not to get caught doing it,” Liam adds, unhelpfully. 

Drake rolls his eyes. “Alright just…hang on. I’ll be back in a few.”

“Thank you—”

“Thanks Drake!” Riley exclaims.

He turns on his heel and gives a half-hearted wave. 

“You both owe me!” he tosses back, marching off. 

His thoughts are quiet at the very least, no whispers of the jealousy from before poking and prodding at him.


End file.
